


Synesthesia, Maybe

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Teasing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 23:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6213643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A slow smile makes its way across Link’s face. “Wanna do one more test?”</i>
</p><p> <i>Rhett sucks in a breath, considering. “Whatcha got in mind, bo?”</i></p><p>After the episode about synesthesia, Link's got a few more questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Synesthesia, Maybe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rhincoln](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhincoln/gifts).



> Based on [GMM 874, Can You Hear Colors?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xj7vukZT9sI) and the [GMMore, Can Rhett See Music?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDDJpbSxhe0&feature=youtu.be)

“No sausage, huh?” Link smirks, shaking his head. “Man, you ain’t even tryin’ to keep things on-brand anymore, are you.”

“That sailed over plenty of people’s heads,” Rhett defends, but he’s grinning that apple-cheeked smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe a word he’s saying, and Link is nothing if not charmed.

“Yeah. Five-year-olds, maybe,” Link says. He tilts his head, regarding Rhett over the rim of his glasses, loving the way Rhett squirms under his gaze. It’s warm on set, warmer than in their office, which is why they’ve been working out here since before the crew packed up and left for the day. In the bright lights of the studio, Link can pick out the lighter strands of gold highlighting Rhett’s dirty-blond hair, the soft grey-green of his eyes, the sweet, candy pink of his lips.

A slow smile makes its way across Link’s face. “Wanna do one more test?”

Rhett sucks in a breath, considering. “Whatcha got in mind, bo?” He scrubs big palms over long thighs, the scrape of skin on denim muted and warm. Link can feel his own palms tingling at the sound, and thinks, just for a moment, that maybe this mirror-touch stuff isn’t so made-up after all.

Then he looks down, realizes he’s unconsciously mirroring Rhett’s movements, hands moving up and down his own thighs. He rolls his eyes.

“I think you know.” Standing abruptly, Link makes his way to the camera, turning it on, then flips the monitor on as well. He very deliberately does _not_ hit record. This isn’t something that needs to be kept for posterity, even though he’d love to be able to go back and watch it - the risk is way too high. But seeing it play out as it happens, on the other hand…

He glances at the monitor as he sits back down, watching Rhett gape at him on the screen.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.” Link shakes his head, hands moving down to his belt, switching his gaze to Rhett beside him. “Gonna see if you can feel this.” The clink of his buckle is loud in the otherwise-quiet room. When Rhett makes a move to follow suit, Link _tsk_ ’s. “Nope,” he says again.

“You mean I just gotta watch you—” Rhett gulps, inclining his head towards the screen where they’re projected, mirror-image and larger than life, “and I don’t get to—”

Link grins. “That’s the experiment, man. Maybe you _will_ feel it.” Drawing his zipper down, he pulls his half-hard dick out of the flap in his underwear, hissing through his teeth at the contact. Lazily, he runs a finger from the base to the tip, electricity sparking at the drag of skin on sensitive skin. He looks over at the monitor again, watching himself, liking the look of his dick fattening up on camera. Oh, if only they could keep this. Link can imagine driving Rhett crazy with it, sending him clips on his phone when he’s least expecting it, watching him get all flustered and trying so hard to hide it. “Mmm, yeah. You feelin’ anything yet?”

Rhett groans, hands gripping tight on the edge of the chair, white-knuckled, and Link giggles a little breathlessly at the way his eyes keep darting from Link on the monitor, to Link’s lap, to Link’s face, like he can’t figure out where to look. Rhett’s called Link an exhibitionist more than once, and he isn’t wrong, but Rhett’s one hell of a voyeur, even if he won’t admit it. Link loves showing off and Rhett just laps it up. They make a good team, Link thinks.

“I _said_ , you feelin’ anything yet, brother?” Link asks, hips bucking involuntarily as he wraps a loose fist around his cock, now fully erect, and starts pumping himself slowly, teasingly. Sneaking a glance at Rhett’s lap, he sees the tight jeans straining against Rhett’s own erection, and he grins. “Looks like you’re feelin’ _something_.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Rhett says with conviction. He squeezes his eyes shut tight for just a moment, biting his sweet bottom lip like he just can’t believe what he’s seeing. When he opens them again, Link’s gratified to see his pupils are blown, the irises just a slim ring of color around a wide expanse of black. “Link, baby, you gotta let me—”

Link just shakes his head, and Rhett straight-up _whines_.

“At least—at least let me unbutton my shirt, huh?” Rhett begs. “You got me so hot, baby, I’m burnin’ up over here,” and it’s true; Link can see sweat beading at Rhett’s hairline, starting to trickle down the side of his face and into his beard. 

“Hmm,” Link murmurs, pretending to mull it over. “I don’t know, I think it’s a good look for you. Maybe you should get even sweatier, make all that shit in your hair melt, get you lookin’ all mussed-up for me.” He licks his lips, slow, watching Rhett’s eyes track the progress of his tongue. He’s getting more than a little hot under the collar himself.

But ultimately, he doesn’t want Rhett to be uncomfortable—not _too_ uncomfortable, anyway—so he nods. “Go ahead, then. But _no other touching_ ,” he warns, and snorts as Rhett nods eagerly, scrambling to obey. Another glance to the monitor and he can see Rhett’s usually-steady hands shaking as he unbuttons his shirt, fingers fumbling to slip the tiny buttons through the holes. After a minute or so, frustration coming off Rhett in waves as he keeps trying and failing to complete a task he usually has no trouble doing, Link leans in, taking pity.

He knocks Rhett’s trembling hands away, laying his own palms flat on the gentle swell of Rhett’s pecs and squeezing lightly. Rhett inhales softly, and Link can feel the rise of his chest underneath his hands. For a second he’s tempted to forget this ‘experiment’ and just climb into Rhett’s lap, kiss him silly, grind their hips together until they’re both coming in their pants like teenagers. Rhett’s like that, always so distracting, his entire existence an appeal to Link’s id. Sometimes Link thinks they should be tired of each other by now, but it hasn’t happened yet, and every time they lose track of what they’re working on because Rhett gives him a _look_ and he can’t help but respond, gratitude and joy hits him like a wave against the shore, nearly staggering in its strength.

But this—he wants very much to continue with this, no matter how much he also wants to run his hands through Rhett’s sweaty hair, no matter how much he wants to lick Rhett’s lips until Rhett’s moaning into his mouth. So he pushes through the urge, does none of the things he desperately wants to do, simply undoes Rhett’s buttons one-by-one, hands for once miraculously steady. Each button freed reveals more of Rhett’s chest, the hair there another temptation Link has to tamp down; his fingers itch to comb through the curls, to scratch at the soft, pale skin underneath.

Instead he leans back after the final button is unbuttoned, sparing another quick glance at the monitor, pleased at what he sees. Rhett’s all golden hair and flushed pink skin, a study in warmth, a sunset in human form.

“You’re beautiful too,” Link whispers, and the way Rhett looks at him as he watches them on the screen—he suddenly understands why a certain subset of fans like to talk about Rhett’s ‘heart-eyes’. He swallows down the swell of emotion that rises up in his throat, watching his goozle bob on the display, then shakes his head. _Focus_.

“Link,” Rhett starts, and Link knows what he’s going to say, knows if Rhett gets the words out that Link’s going to give up the obviously tenuous grasp he has on his self-control, so he shakes his head again, cutting Rhett off at the pass.

“Lean back and relax,” he says, and wraps his fist around his neglected cock, groaning as it throbs in his grip, trying to get back into the teasing mindset he slipped into so easily at the beginning of this little experiment. “Gosh, Rhett,” he breathes, watching as Rhett’s jaw drops, the intensity in his eyes all the more evident when it’s magnified in the monitor. “I hope you’re feelin’ this. Want you to feel as good as I do.”

He slides his other hand under the hem of his t-shirt, rucking the fabric up his stomach, delighting in the slow reveal of his skin on the monitor. A little bit of vanity is almost expected in this industry—otherwise they’d be hosting a radio show—and Link’s not ashamed to admit he likes how he looks, cock jutting up proud and thick above the circle of his fist, the bared skin of his torso looking smooth and tan under the bright lights. He tips his head back, biting his lip, and throws a wink to Rhett through the camera.

Then he ruins the whole thing by opening his mouth.

“So maybe not the sausage, then,” Link says, unable to finish the sentence with a straight face, giggles overtaking him halfway through. Rhett joins in, his big, booming laugh resounding in the empty studio. Even their laughs harmonize, Link thinks, and he doesn’t even care how sappy the thought is because it’s _true_.

“You can’t say stupid shit like that while you look like _that_ ,” Rhett says, grinning, cheeks high and round and so sweet Link wants to just eat him up. “Sendin’ me mixed signals.”

“Sendin’ you the same signals I always do,” Link retorts, matching Rhett’s smile with one of his own. “You give it a try, then. Lemme see you. Maybe it’ll work that way.”

The premise is stretched so thin it’s transparent at this point, the whole exercise nothing more than an excuse to watch each other jerk off on camera, to get off on the denial of touching and being touched, but Rhett seems willing enough to go along for the ride. His hands fly to his belt as soon as Link finishes talking, the pop of the button and the zip of his fly following in rapid succession.

The moan that spills from his lips when he wraps one big hand around his erection, gripping himself through the dark red fabric of his boxer-briefs, has Link believing he really _can_ see sounds, the low tone a deep, warm bronze that resonates in the air for a moment before disappearing. The sensation is brief but completely overwhelming, surreal.

“Gosh,” he mumbles, suddenly shaky. On the monitor, Rhett arches an eyebrow, at him, questioning.

“Felt that, huh? Maybe this does work,” Rhett says, a smirk playing at his lips. Link wants to explain, tell him no, that’s not it, but there was _something_ —but Rhett’s tugging his jeans and underwear down together, cock bobbing free from its confines, and Link’s brain switches off completely. 

He moves his hand towards his lap, but stops when Rhett shakes his head. “Not how this works, remember?” Rhett punctuates the question with a slow stroke of his dick, inhaling sharply, and Link’s mouth waters.

“Maybe—” Link swallows, sees himself wide-eyed and flushed on the monitor, sees Rhett watching him, watching _them_ , “maybe we’re going about this the wrong way. Could be—maybe it’s like the knee thing.”

Rhett huffs out a laugh, scooting his chair close to Link’s. He reaches his free hand out, hovers it over Link’s cock, tantalizingly close but not touching, a maddening, beautiful form of torture. His lips are twisted in a wry, teasing smile. “You mean like this, bo? You feelin’ this?”

“Might need to get closer,” Link chokes out, then throws his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, when Rhett’s fingers close around him, grip tight and warm. Link gasps, chest going tight, but Rhett pulls away after only a moment, and Link can’t help the groan of disappointment he lets out. “What—”

“Open your eyes, baby,” Rhett murmurs, sliding a hand against Link’s stomach, rubbing his thumb back and forth against the trail of hair leading into his underwear. “Want you to see how you look when I’ve got my hands on you.”

Link’s eyes fly open. “ _Rhett_ ,” he moans, and Rhett chuckles low, resuming his grip on Link’s aching cock.

“That’s it,” Rhett says, pausing only a moment to move his chair even closer to Link, to angle them so they’re both facing the camera instead of one another. He strokes himself with the same rhythm he’s stroking Link, the both of them dripping with precome now, easing the slide of skin on skin. He groans, dipping his head to press a sloppy kiss against the side of Link’s neck, up near his ear, then straightens again, watching the monitor. “Look at you, Link. So gorgeous. Wish I could show you off like this, show everyone how sexy you are, make sure they all know you’re mine. Look so damn good, baby.”

Link gasps, arching up into Rhett’s touch, struggling to keep his eyes open and locked on the monitor. He looks obscene, bite-reddened lips parted around the panting breaths he takes, shirt still rucked up, exposing most of his torso. His hair has fallen out of its neat style, stray locks tumbling down onto his forehead, and he can see the sheen of sweat on his upper lip. Rhett’s hand around his dick is the filthiest, best part of the picture—at least until Link shifts his gaze to look at Rhett. The sight makes him shiver.

Rhett’s whole chest is exposed, the skin peachy-warm, tiny nipples tight and brown and hard. His eyes are hooded, dark, and so intense as he looks at Link in the monitor that Link can almost feel the stare like a physical caress. The tip of his tongue pokes out from between his lips as he strokes himself and Link in unison, all the more tantalizing because Link knows he’s not doing it on purpose. He wants nothing more than to lean over and lick his way into Rhett’s mouth, wrap his lips around Rhett’s little tongue, taste him, drink him in.

But he refrains, because Rhett’s right—he does look good. They both look good. And maybe the parameters of this experiment have pretty much flown out the window, but he still wants to see it through to the end.

Actually, If Link’s truly honest, he just wants to see himself come on camera. And from the warmth curling in his gut, along his spine, from Rhett’s sure, steady strokes, he’s not very far from doing exactly that.

“Harder,” he mutters, bucking his hips, thrusting up into Rhett’s fist, letting out a broken moan when Rhett complies. “Fuck, Rhett, I’m so close…”

“Mmm,” Rhett hums. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart? You gonna get yourself all messy on camera for me, watch yourself get covered in your own come on the monitor we use every single day?” His voice drops down to a growl, low and resonating, so deep that Link feels it more than he hears it. “Get filthy for me, Link. Come for me, baby.”

Link groans as the tension snaps, his cock pulsing in Rhett’s fist, spurting out ropes of come that splatter Rhett’s curled fingers and land wetly on Link’s stomach. Rhett pumps him through the orgasm, making soft, encouraging noises, until Link bats him away weakly, cock growing rapidly oversensitive. He slumps back in the chair, drained and tingling, and glances at Rhett next to him.

“You close too, bo?” he asks, voice hoarse, feeling drained. Rhett nods, bottom lip between his teeth, and Link gestures at the mess on his stomach. “Come on me. Wanna feel you.”

Rhett moans, unfolding his long limbs to stand in front of Link, angling himself so he can look over his shoulder at the monitor. His height means he’s cut off from the chest upwards, obscuring all of his defining features, making the tableau on the screen look like something out of a generic porno, just a big anonymous guy with a huge dick jerking off onto some skinny twink. The thought makes Link’s spent cock twitch against his thigh.

“Gonna give it to you,” Rhett mutters, fist flying on his cock, the motion nearly a blur on the monitor. Link nods, pushes his shirt further up, exposing his chest, presenting a target. Rhett groans. “Yeah, Link, yeah, _fuck_ ,” and then he’s coming too, free hand gripping the table behind him for balance, eyes fluttering shut as his hips thrust forward towards Link, painting his chest white. Link hums in appreciation, sparing one last glance at the debauched scene on the monitor before focusing on the man in front of him.

“Huh,” he murmurs. Above him, Rhett makes a questioning noise.

“Just—felt _that_ ,” Link says, and Rhett barks out a laugh. Opening his eyes, he looks down at Link, shaking his head, apple-cheeked and grinning once again.

“Me too, brother. Me too.”

Link smiles back.


End file.
